


Five Times Miss Fisher Tried To Undress Jack Robinson and One Time She Succeeded

by blue_spruce



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5331314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_spruce/pseuds/blue_spruce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jack,” Phryne says, looking up at him from under her long black eyelashes. “You’re always so –” She airily waves her hand by her head as she searches for words, and Jack turns to face her fully. “So buttoned-up,” she finishes, and then she reaches out and plucks at the neck of the vest under his suit-jacket. “Don’t you ever want to just–”</p><p>She undoes the top button, and his brain stutters. “Miss Fisher,” he says sternly, catching her wrist and tugging her hand away from his chest.</p><p>“–loosen up a little?” she asks. Her expression is mild, the very definition of innocent sweetness.</p><p>“No,” he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Miss Fisher Tried To Undress Jack Robinson and One Time She Succeeded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silentcs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentcs/gifts).



 1.

“Inspector Robinson.” Jack hears her laughing voice before he even registers that she’s in his office. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

Jack raises an eyebrow and circles his desk; _his_ desk, the desk Phryne is sitting on, leaning back on her hands nonchalantly.

“Miss Fisher.” He pauses when he reaches his chair, then turns, resting his hands on the beveled edge. “What are you doing here?”

Phryne jumps off his desk and spins around to face him over the gleaming wood surface. She leans in on her hands, closer, closer. He can smell the perfume she’s wearing. “Why, I’ve come to offer my help, of course,” she says. Her eyes sparkle. “I heard you might need some assistance with the interviewing.”

“That’s very generous of you,” Jack says dryly. “I’m afraid things are all under control at the moment, though. Collins!” he calls, lifting his gaze past her towards the door. “Please see Miss Fisher out.”

Jack has known Phryne Fisher long enough that he shouldn’t be surprised by the way she slips around the end of his desk, but he still startles when she ends up right beside him. He looks down at her, blinking in a way that feels slow and stupid even to him.

“Jack,” Phryne says, looking up at him from under her long black eyelashes. “You’re always so –” She airily waves her hand by her head as she searches for words, and Jack turns to face her fully. “So buttoned-up,” she finishes, and then she reaches out and plucks at the neck of the vest under his suit-jacket. “Don’t you ever want to just–”

She undoes the top button, and his brain stutters. “Miss Fisher,” he says sternly, catching her wrist and tugging her hand away from his chest.

“–loosen up a little?” she asks. Her expression is mild, the very definition of innocent sweetness.

“No,” he says.

There’s a sharp rap on the doorframe and Jack looks up from Phryne’s face to see Hugh watching them curiously. “You needed me, sir?” Phryne takes a step back. Jack realizes belatedly that he’s still holding onto her hand. He drops it quickly, stepping back himself.

“Miss Fisher was just on her way out,” Jack says, clearing his throat.

Phryne rolls her eyes and heads towards the doorway. She pauses next to Hugh and turns around. “Jack,” she says.

“Yes?” Jack settles himself in his chair, taking a deep breath.

“That vest really isn’t your color. You might try a dove gray instead.”

He stares at her, then at Hugh. “Collins,” he says pointedly.

“Right, sir.” Hugh nods. “Ah, Miss Fisher…”

Jack carefully re-buttons his vest in the silence after they’re gone.

 

2.

Jack sees the knife an instant before it slices into his shoulder. Soon enough to foresee what comes next; not soon enough to get out of the way.

The pain follows a second behind. He loses his breath in a quick gasp.

Across the deck someone screams, a high female voice that might be Phryne or Dot or someone else entirely. Jack grits his teeth and keeps grappling for the knife.

*

It’s a lucky thing that Hugh shows up when he does.

“Inspector!” Hugh shouts, and just like that he has the knife-wielding assailant shoved up against the ship’s railing, bending backwards until his feet are coming off the floor. “I’ve half a mind to drop you overboard,” Hugh says conversationally. It’s a surprisingly credible threat. Hugh has certainly improved since his first days as a policeman, Jack thinks, pushing himself to his feet.

“Collins,” Jack says; he’s aiming for _longsuffering_ but probably hitting something closer in tone to _overwhelmed,_ he’s man enough to admit. 

He doesn’t get any farther than that before Phryne appears in front of him, scrabbling at his jacket.

“Jack,” she says, panicked. “Your shoulder–”

“Is fine,” Jack snaps. The pressure of her hands tugging at his clothes has sparks of pain radiating out from the wound. He feels lightheaded and has to concentrate on his breathing for a moment before he speaks again. “Hugh, put the man down.”

“Are you sure?” Hugh is enjoying himself far too much. Jack narrows his eyes slightly, gratified when Hugh’s expression turns sheepish.

“Jack,” Phryne says again. She tries again to push his jacket off, and this time he steps back, turning away.

“ _Thank you,_ Miss Fisher,” he says tightly. “Hugh, you have things under control here?”

“Yes sir!”

“I’m going to telephone the commissioner, then,” Jack says. He heads towards the ladder hanging over the side of the ship, only to find himself blocked before he reaches it.

Phryne’s eyes are huge in the low light of the shipyard. Jack meets her gaze briefly, struck as always by how much emotion her face shows. He’s never met anyone so vibrant, so willing to wear her heart on her sleeve.

He has to look away after a moment, though, because now Phryne looks furious. “You just got _stabbed_ ,” she says, shifting to block his passage again when he tries to get past her. “Dot can go telephone the commissioner. You’re still – Jack, you’re still bleeding.”

He glances down at her shoulder. A dark patch is showing through his jacket, and it’s damp to the touch when he raises a hand to check. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he tries.

The black spots swimming in front of his eyes might have something to do with his suspicion that he didn’t sound as convincing as he’d hoped. Jack hears his name again, as if someone from very far away was shouting, and then he doesn’t remember anything else for a while.

 

3.

Any second Jones is going to come around the corner and see them and all those weeks of undercover work will be for naught. Jack curses under his breath. He never should have followed Phryne out of the ballroom. He knew better, but then Phryne beckoned to him from across the polished hardwood floor and he just...up and went, like some wet behind the ears rookie.

“You aren’t listening to me,” Phryne says as Jack tries the door of the hotel room nearest them, rattling the glass knob with his heart beating in his throat. “It’s _Jones_. He’s been the one behind it all.”

Jack turns from the door and throws his hands up. “I _know_ ,” he hisses furiously, “I’ve known that for weeks. And he’s here tonight and he _certainly_ saw you chatting with Collins, who showed up _in his police uniform_ for some reason that defies explanation.” The reason has a name and her name is Dot, Jack thinks uncharitably. “All I need is for him to see me talking to you and the whole thing is blown.”

“...Oh,” Phryne says, after a tiny pause. She purses her lips. “We could have avoided this mess if you’d just told me what your undercover assignment was about.”

He’s standing there staring at her, marveling at her sheer audacity, when the sound of quickly approaching footsteps jerks them both into motion. Jack turns his back towards the sound, shielding his face instinctively.

Phryne surprises him: she slides in between him and the door, grinning widely the whole time.

“Follow my lead,” she whispers, and then there are fingers loosening the knot of his tie.

“What–” he starts, but just then someone rounds the corner of the hallway. He leans in closer as the footsteps hesitate, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder.

Phryne gets his tie undone and pulls it slowly from around his neck. It feels like an eternity passes before the footsteps fade away.

Jack’s neck feels strangely vulnerable. His skin is prickling. “Safe?” he asks, low.

She nods.

Jack thinks in a quick flash of images. The time he’d kissed her in the restaurant. The last time they’d stood this close – the time he’d fainted from loss of blood right at her feet. The basket of food she’d brought him during his brief stay in the hospital.

He almost closes the rest of the space between them. At the last second he catches himself and straightens up, stepping backwards. “My tie?” he asks, holding out a hand.

Phryne looks up at him, a mischievous expression flickering across her face. “If you insist,” she says, and drops the silky length of fabric into his palm. “So, let’s talk about Jones.”

Jack blinks. “Yes,” he says, clearing his throat. “A very good idea, Miss Fisher. Thank you.” He coils his tie in his hands. It suddenly seems a very _bad_ idea to ask for her help to put it back on.

 

4.

It’s cold out, but Jack stands an extra minute on the porch of Phryne’s house before he knocks. He rocks up on his toes, restless with excess energy.

The door opens just a moment after he raps his knuckles against the wood. Like she was waiting for me, he thinks, something warm unfurling in his chest. “Good evening, Inspector,” she says, smiling, stepping back so he can come in. “What brings you here this evening? I hope nothing too serious.”

Jack glances around the entryway, cataloguing everything out of habit. The low lamplight is making the wooden floors gleam warmly, and the glimpse he catches of the armchair in the sitting room has his mouth tipping up at the corners. All his paperwork is done for the evening. He could sit here for hours.

“No,” he says simply, faint ideas about jazz records and Phryne’s deft hands pouring fancy drinks hovering at the edge of his mind. “No, nothing serious.”

Phryne’s smile deepens. She’s wearing a red blouse that matches her lipstick, and Jack hasn’t always been the sort of person to notice such things but he certainly is appreciating the effect now. The blouse looks silky and soft, and he can’t help but wonder how it would feel under his hands. “Well,” she says, “why don’t you come and sit down, then.”

Jack is unbuttoning his overcoat when Phryne steps closer. She reaches up and lifts his hat off his head, and he pauses in his movements, his nerves singing at how close she is. “Phryne,” he says, unthinking, his gaze fastened on her face.

She lowers the hat slowly, her face turning serious. “Yes?”

He hadn’t planned on what to say next. The moment stretches on, Jack’s thoughts skittering like radio static. He swallows, and takes a breath, and catches the scent of Phryne’s perfume again.

The telephone rings, and Jack blinks, but doesn’t move. Neither does Phryne, but a moment later there are footsteps in the kitchen.

There is a respectable amount of space between the two of them when Mr. Butler sticks his head around the corner. “Your Aunt Prudence on the telephone, Miss.”

“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” Phryne says. She looks down, then holds Jack’s hat out to him. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Jack.”

“Of course,” Jack says. He watches her sweep out of the hallway and through the kitchen before he sighs and hangs his hat up on the hook.

 

5.

“You sound _terrible_ ,” Phryne says when Jack’s finished updating her on the new facts that have come to light about the Luhn murder.

Jack coughs into his handkerchief again. He folds it and slips it into his pocket before drawing himself up and meeting her gaze with as much dignity as he can muster. “Yes, well,” he says, pausing to clear his throat, “unfortunately I sound a good deal better than half the Victorian Constabulary at the moment.”

Phryne raises an eyebrow. “I guess that would explain why Dot has been sniffling all day.”

“Hmm.” Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. His sinuses ache. “I suppose so.”

It’s a true test of willpower, trying to get out of the armchair. Jack glances towards the window as he stands up, confirming that it’s still raining. “Jack,” Phryne says, and he looks back at her. “Where are you going?”

He lifts one shoulder. “Back to the station for a bit. Then home.”

She stands up and crosses her arms. “You shouldn’t go out in this,” she says, frowning. “Why don’t you just stay here tonight; we have the spare room made up already.” She turns and crosses the room to the doorway. “Mr. Butler!”

“Phryne,” he protests, “I couldn’t impose–”

“Nonsense,” she says archly. “Ah, Mr. Butler, there you are. Could you dig some nightclothes out for the Inspector, please? He’s taking the spare room tonight.” She throws a look over her shoulder at Jack, daring him to disagree with her. “No one should be out and about in this weather, don’t you agree?”

“Quite right,” Mr. Butler says, nodding agreement. “I’m sure I can come up with something.” He tilts his head and eyes Jack consideringly. “Yes, I have just the thing. One moment.” He disappears back into the kitchen.

“Perfect,” Phryne says, coming back to the sofa. She sits down and nods towards the armchair imperiously.

Jack shakes his head at her but sits back down. It’s only a short while later when Mr. Butler knocks softly on the doorframe. “I’ve left some things on the bed in the spare room, Inspector,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Mr. Butler,” Phryne says.

“Yes,” Jack says. “Thank you.”

*

Jack is almost asleep when he hears a quiet _tap-tap-tap_. He slides out of bed and pulls on the housecoat Mr. Butler left him over his nightclothes and then pads over to the door. He isn’t surprised to see Phryne on the other side when he opens it.

“Yes?” he says, voice low.

Phryne sweeps her eyes down over him before looking back at his face. He feels his cheeks heat and runs a hand over his hair self-consciously. “Was there anything else you needed?” she asks. “Were there enough blankets on the bed?”

“Yes,” he says. “Or, I mean – no, I don’t need anything else.” He has to turn aside for a moment to cough into the crook of his arm. “Thank you.”

She smiles, just the tiniest curve of her lips. “Alright then,” she says. “Goodnight, Jack.”

 

 

+1.

Phryne’s fingers are nimble and quick on his shirt buttons. Jack feels clumsy in comparison, searching the back of her dress for the fastenings.

She’s pulling the tails of his dress shirt out of his pants before he’s half done, and then he has to pause anyway because Phryne is shoving the shirt off his shoulders and it’s stuck around his arms. “Your clothes are too complicated,” Jack says as the shirt drops to the floor and Phryne goes to work on his belt.

Phryne laughs, delighted. “Just wait until you see what’s underneath,” she says, looking up at him from under her lashes.

Jack blinks. Well then.

Phryne is starting to work his pants down over his hips when he captures her wrists in his hands and pulls them away. “Turn around,” he says impatiently, and she laughs again.

It goes quicker when he can see what he’s doing. The dress finally falls to the floor and Phryne steps out of it, spinning around and smirking at him. Her chemise is a pale pink with fine embroidery all around the neckline, and looks silky in the warm light of the bedside lamp. “More buttons?” Jack asks, stepping over the dress carefully and taking Phryne back into his arms.

She hums agreement, slipping her arms around his neck and leaning in to kiss him. He slides his hands slowly down to her waist, feeling the rough skin of his fingertips catching on the soft fabric. “But you first,” she murmurs when she draws back, running her hands over his shoulders, his chest, his stomach. She tugs gently at his undershirt. “I’ve been waiting a very, _very_ long time for this, Jack.”

Jack kisses her again before he pulls the undershirt over his head. “You’ve been … surprisingly patient,” he says, and he tries to keep from smiling. It doesn’t work. Phryne reaches up and touches the corner of his mouth.

“Take me to bed, Jack,” she says softly.

He doesn’t need to be told twice.


End file.
